


Universal Truths

by OllyJay



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Discworld References, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-10
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-03-16 02:04:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13626267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OllyJay/pseuds/OllyJay
Summary: Ever wondered how the characters from Discworld would get on with the characters from Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries? No?Regardless, I've written a series of random, unrelated one shots:- Vimes & Young Jack - Gallipolli 1915- Early Vimes & Phryne - London 1930- Esme Weatherwax & Phrack - Discworld at least 20 years before Equal Rites





	1. Vimes & Young Jack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Most of the great triumphs and tragedies of history are caused not by people being fundamentally good or fundamentally evil, but by people being fundamentally people  
> \- Terry Pratchett

**25th April 1915**

Samuel Vimes leapt over the side of the life boat, landing knee deep in the cold salt water and immediately sinking to his ankles in the wet sand. Gun held high in front, he sprinted up the beach. Two things occurred to him as he ran: firstly, that he wasn’t getting any younger, and second, that he was a sitting duck for the duration of this exercise. If he had had the breath to spare he would have muttered, ‘Damn stupid idea.’ Instead, he jumped to avoid the poor bastard in front of him who had fallen under a rain of bullets.

 

**7th May 1915**

"Major! You are perilously close to insubordination.” The short, bespectacled man - whose superiority was endowed by the amount of gold braiding on his sleeve - spoke right over Vimes’ suggestion that it would be handy to know where the enemy fortifications were _before_ a third attempt was made on Krithia.

Vimes bit back his immediate response which was, ‘Insubordination? Good Lord man, don’t you recognise mutiny when you see it?’ Fortunately, at the last minute he remembered that, unlike the Company of the Australian 6th battalion which he was currently in command of, as a British Officer he _was_ eligible to face a firing squad. God damn it! How was it possible that this idiot came from the same stock as the brave lads he had the honour of trying to keep alive? Beside him, his adjutant stood as still as stone, nothing in his stance or face indicating he understood a word of the heated conversation.

Vimes knew to say more would be pointless. He also knew that he couldn’t abandon the men who were relying on him to get them through this - and so… he took a deep breath, came to his feet, staring at a spot slightly above the head of the _Golden Fool_ and shot off the smartest salute this side of the Dardanelles. “Yes, sah! Apologies, sah! Moment of madness, sah! Not been sleeping - too excited about the impending push! Sah!” His Sergeant, he thought, would be proud of this display of grovelling enthusiasm.

One knowing glance and the _Pompous One_ let it pass. In less than twenty four hours this consistently annoying Major was likely to be just another dead body in the sand in any event - taking this further would be more effort than he wished to expend. “Understandable, Major. Let’s say no more about it. Good luck.” He held out his hand.

Vimes forced himself to shake it, the words of his wife running through his mind… something about the value of civility, he frowned, or was that of wearing clean shorts every day? Nearly a year since he had seen her and he was starting to confuse her spoken words with her written instructions… either way he knew this is what she would counsel him to do - so it must be right.

As _His Arrogance_ left the hastily erected canvas tent which passed for a command station, Vimes spat on his hand and wiped the taint off on his trouser leg.

“Well done, sir!” his adjutant said enthusiastically, “You certainly told him.”

Vimes stared at Carrot. Maybe he really hadn’t understood the conversation - he could never make up his mind about the man. “It made no difference, Captain. Tomorrow we will send these men out under heavy fire in broad daylight with no cover. They will die. In droves. And we will still be stuck in this God forsaken cove.”

Carrot nodded, “But they will die heroes, and a hundred years from now people will still gather to remember them.”

Vines shook his head. “And mothers will go mad with grief at the loss of their beloved sons, wives will face the future alone and unsupported, and children will grow up in villages with precious little in the way of examples of what a father should be. That is the sort of thing that will reverberate through generations. There is no romance in death, Carrot - no matter how many poems they chant a hundred years from now.”

On a ridge not very far away a very busy hooded figure holding a scythe took a moment to feel slightly aggrieved; after all, he wasn’t wearing black in this heat for fun.

“The Lieutenant Colonel has some interesting ideas,” Carrot changed the topic. He did not want his commander to sink into melancholy; better to keep him angry.

“The only thing interesting about that man is the mind blowing magnificence of his drive for personal glory. What is he in civilian life?” It was a random question but he had no doubt his adjutant would know the answer.

“He is a member of the Melbourne Constabulary, Chief Inspector I believe.”

“Ah,” Vimes nodded.

“His son-in-law is actually one of our men,” Carrot said nonchalantly.

Vines looked at him sharply, “Really? Has he arranged for him to be reassigned before tomorrow?”

“Well… the order did come through but when I mentioned it to Robinson he asked me to misplace it - said another day or so wouldn't matter..”

The first genuine smile of the morning found its way to Vimes’ face. He had liked the earnest young Private the moment he had seen him showing his mates how they could use their guns as staffs, for when they got too close to shoot or, far more likely, simply ran out of bullets. That kind of practical forethought would get the boy promoted through the ranks quickly, well, that and appallingly high casualty rates.

“Robinson is a police constable back in Melbourne.”

“Good Lord, is he?” Vimes thought for a moment, that explained the street brawling skills. It also occurred to him that Robinson was likely to be that rarest of things, a good copper. “Carrot, where are you planning to fight tomorrow?”

The Captain refused to meet his eye. “I was thinking I’d base myself along the right flank - they will have it hardest along the gully.”

Vimes nodded, “Good man.” Though he would never know it, Robinson’s chances of making it through tomorrow had just increased a hundredfold.

Carrot ignored the implied approval. “I don’t understand, sir, why they can’t see that a plan that has failed twice already is just as likely to fail the third time.”

Vimes shook his head, reaching into his shirt pocket to find a half smoked cigar. “This is what happens, Carrot - when you leave the planning of a battle to a gentleman who has learnt everything he knows from classical texts and another who thinks war should be conducted in office hours. They are sending these poor bastards straight into the dragon’s maw.” He lit the sorry excuse for tobacco and leaned back in his chair, puffing smoke rings into the air.

There was a sudden barrage of cheers from outside the tent, the sort you hear when people are bored and something occurs to amuse them, like two gladiators squaring off to the death for entertainment purposes. Carrot excused himself and by the time Vimes strolled over, he had separated the two combatants and was holding on to them by the scruff of their respective necks.

One look at the swarthy skin and blue black hair of the man on the right told Vimes all he needed to know of the origin of the fight, but he waited for Carrot to confirm.

“Simple misunderstanding, sir, due to certain physical similarities between Private Simmons and the Turks.”

Vimes stared sternly at both men and they visibly quailed. He waved his hand inland, “To be clear, the enemy is over there, you can tell because they are the ones shooting at us. In case you hadn’t noticed they are doing a damn good job of it and there are fewer of us every day. Resources are scarce, gentlemen, and not to be wasted - not on my watch. You are both qualified to die for your country and will get an equal chance to do so tomorrow. Is that understood?”

The vigorous nods, which may have been assisted by the movement of Carrot’s hands, suggested it was.

“Excellent.” Vimes glanced at Carrot, “I'll leave the detail to you then, Captain?”

“Of course, sir.”

As Vimes ducked back into the tent he could hear Carrot speaking of the brotherhood of men, with guns, fighting other men with guns who didn’t understand brotherhood and therefore were bound to lose. It was sentimental tosh but, when Carrot spoke it… he made you want to believe.

Fifteen minutes later, having created a sense of comradeship that had everyone hugging and swearing eternal friendship, Carrot discreetly retired. He wanted to polish his boots and belt before the battle. He had a feeling that his sweetheart back home would howl with laughter at his desire to present himself to the enemy as smartly as possible but, as he always liked to see her happy, he didn't mind in the least.

_Incidentally Vimes was right, the next day both men did get to die for King and Country, along with 50% of the Australian 2nd Infantry Brigade - 1,056 men in all._

 

**20th December 1915**

In the eyes of the men who made it through, the evacuation was the most successful action of the entire eight month campaign. Vimes, as he watched the men clambering into the lifeboats under heavy fire, felt the bar had been set fairly low. With a sigh he began to walk past the lines of soldiers waiting patiently for their turn to be targets in the shooting gallery. The ever faithful Carrot kept pace beside him.

The Captain leaned in. “Young Robinson’s mob is next, sir. If you want to have a word?”

Vimes raised his eyebrows - what exactly was Carrot wanting to prompt him on? “I thought he had been reassigned after Krithia?”

“No, sir. On his return Robinson told the Lieutenant Colonel only someone with a death wish would agree to be moved out of your Company.” Carrot looked up at a passing cloud, intensely interested in the way it moved silently wherever the wind blew it. “I understand he has no family, sir, excepting his wife’s.”

Vimes looked across at the Private, leaning on his rifle, laughing with his friends, a cigarette dangling from his mouth. Perhaps a word to the wise would not go astray? He ambled across. “Robinson!”

The young man dropped his cigarette on the ground whilst throwing up a salute so sharp it nearly took his eye out. Vimes fought the urge to pick up the still glowing stub and place it behind his ear for later.

“At ease, man. I only want a quick word.” Vimes indicated with a nod of his head that he should walk with him.

After a quick glance at his mates, Robinson fell in beside the Major, looking nervous.

“You’re a good man, Robinson,” Vimes began.

“Thank you, sir,” replied the slightly bewildered lad.

“No, don’t thank me, that wasn’t a compliment… more of a commiseration,” Vimes corrected him.

Robinson glanced at Captain Carrot following respectfully a few steps behind them. For his pains he received a smile of encouragement that made him even more nervous.

Knowing he didn’t have the gift of words, Vimes went straight to the point he intended to make. “When you marry, Robinson, you take on many obligations. Not just in respect of the object of your affection but to her family also. And you may feel under pressure to keep everyone happy. Do you understand what I am saying?”

“Yes, sir,” came the reply but no one was fooled into believing he understood anything.

Vimes tried another angle. “What I mean to say is that there may be expectations… placed upon you… ones that you may not personally agree with.”

The boy’s bright blue eyes were completely unclouded by comprehension.

Vimes felt things were quickly heading south. He looked back at Carrot, who gave another one of his trademark smiles of encouragement. He took a deep breath. “The point I am making is that a good man sometimes has to choose between conflicting obligations, and the right choice is never the easy one. In fact, the rightness of the decision can best be measured by the level of difficulty and personal discomfort it causes you. Now do you see?”

The befuddled lad considered all the possible responses and went with, “Yes, sir!”

Vimes shook his head, presumably he would would work it out in his own time - he had done his best. He surveyed the exhausted men: they had been 60,000; on the very first day 747 of them had died. A further 8,000 had died in the months that followed. At the last tally around 18,000 were injured. It was blatantly obvious that at times your best was simply not enough. On the other hand, some of these men were still alive because of him and that meant something too. Now, however, his time with them was over - he and Carrot were heading to France. “Any idea where you're shipping to, Robinson?”

The lad gave an easy and incredibly engaging smile. “First to Egypt but then rumour is we’re off to France, sir. A place called Posey Airs. It sounds posh and anyway, nowhere could be worse than this hell hole.”

Vimes, recognising the name, wondered if he should say anything but decided it wouldn’t make it any better. “Excellent, try not to overindulge in wine and cheese while you’re there,” he said, before walking swiftly away.

_The sixth battalion went from Egypt to Pozieres to Ypres and back to winter in the Somme. It is possible that the young man standing on that beach in Gallipoli had severely underestimated the number of hells there were available in the world._

 

**1930**

Detective Inspector Jack Robinson sat on the uncomfortable wooden pew of the Supreme Court of Victoria, his eyes on the short, bespectacled man in the docks. He was unaware of the clenching and unclenching of his hands until the woman beside him covered the nearest with one of hers. He looked at her in surprise and gratitude.

He had sent a telegram to Phryne as soon as the date of the trial had been known, explaining that he couldn’t come after her, that his input was pivotal for the prosecution case. It was one of the hardest things he had ever done and he had trusted she would understand - though that didn't make it any easier.

This morning, walking glumly in for the first of what would be many days of argument and counterargument - he had found her sitting at the front of the courtroom. They didn’t have a chance to speak, which was just as well, because he was not sure how to express how much it meant to him that she had come back, for him. Turning his hand over, he interlaced their fingers as he refocused on Sanderson.

Having lost his father when he was very young and his mother just before he joined the police force, he had been eager to become one of Rosie’s family and had always looked up to George. It was amazing, he thought, how clearly he could see the man for what he was now, and he was suddenly reminded of a long forgotten warning...

…from another man, a taciturn man, respected, but perhaps not liked by those who served under him. A man who had influenced him in more ways than he had ever appreciated. Jack gave one of his now rare but still incredibly engaging smiles. Major Vimes, wherever he was in the universe, was sure to be proud of the choice he had made.


	2. Early Vimes and Phryne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Phryne had ridden in on a unicorn he would merely have remarked on its elegant hocks and golden horn and suggested that she enter it weight for age at Flemington. Well, no, not a unicorn. Not Phryne. A dragon, perhaps. He was sure that she could tame a dragon.”  
> ― Kerry Greenwood, Murder and Mendelssohn

“Down, Inspector!”

Vimes threw himself face first at the ground - he recognised that tone of voice, it was one he used himself quite often, it meant _if you have any interest in seeing the sun rise again you will do exactly what I say, right now!_ The only thing is, he couldn’t ever remember anyone using it on him.

A gunshot reverberated down the narrow alley, there was a scream and the sound of something metal hitting the ground. He waited a moment to see if there would be another shot. When there was only the sound of high heels striking cobbles behind him, he came roaring to his feet, spinning to face the shooter. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

The rather sparkly lilac heels came to a clattering halt.

“Give me that bloody thing!” Vimes was livid as he snatched the gun from Phryne’s hand. His mood was not improved by the rude reminder he received that a freshly fired gun is actually extremely hot. He tossed the gun between his hands before thinking to put it in the pocket of his navy police issue overcoat.

“What are you doing?” she demanded as she tried to get her gun out of his pocket.

Vimes grasped hold of her wrists to prevent her from reaching it. “Do you have a certificate for that firearm?”

Phryne struggled to free her arms. “You know I don’t.”

“Are you a serving police officer?” Vimes evaded her attempt to stomp on his foot.

“Yes, yes I am,” she said sarcastically, as she aimed her knee between his legs.

Stepping quickly back and out of her range, Vimes was forced to release her. “Miss Fisher, you are a civilian with an unlicensed firearm who has just shot a man. I should arrest you…”

“But he was going to shoot…”

Vimes spoke over her, “I should arrest you but I have no desire to delay your return to Australia a second longer than absolutely necessary so we are going to pretend that I warned my suspect that he was under arrest then, when it appeared he was reaching for his own gun, shot him - for fear he may hit an innocent bystander.” Vimes looked at her as sternly as he could muster, which was enough to make battle hardened men quake in their boots. And had absolutely no impact on Phryne. “To be clear the role you are playing in this fiction is that of innocent bystander.”

Phryne folded her arms, effortlessly elegant in her cream trousers, matching top and lilac overcoat; and tapped her foot. “That’s fine with me but…” she looked towards the man currently rolling on the ground moaning as he clutched at his leg, “...do you think he’s going to stick to the script?”

Vimes glanced at the man. “Leave him to me,” he said, moving to secure the man’s discarded weapon.

She followed, standing behind him. Vimes could feel disapproval radiating off her. “You don’t get to critique my methods of persuasion, Fisher,” he growled as he straightened and turned to face her.

She sniffed, “If you were a proper policeman…”

_Right, here we go - again_ , Vimes rolled his eyes.

“...like Jack, this would never have happened in the first place.”

“Jack this, Jack that... Jack Robinson is not even a proper name,” Vimes countered, “it’s a character from a bloody nursery rhyme and this perfect copper you keep going on about is probably just as much of a fairy tale.”

Phryne took a step forward so she was right in his face.

Vimes gritted his teeth and held his ground.

“Detective Inspector Jack Robinson of the City South Station in Melbourne is a very real man and a better copper than you’ll ever be!”

“He’s not a man, he's a bloody saint - if he can put up with your interference in his cases for more than thirty seconds!”

The two of them stood, in the dark alley, nose to nose, glowering at each other so hard the walls around them were in very real danger of melting.

“Excuse me?” a small voice came from the ground beside them. “I think I might be seriously hurt here… there is quite a lot of blood and… I don’t want to go on about it, but I’m actually in a fair bit of pain.”

Two sets of intensely irritated eyes swung to the poor unfortunate murderer.

“Or I could just wait here… quietly… till you’re ready,” he suggested.

The eyes swung back.

“You should be thanking me! You would never have thought of him if I hadn’t shared my findings with you,” Phryne pointed out.

“Your findings are inadmissible in court and only confirm what I already knew - that he did it.”

“Rubbish, your investigation was floundering...”

Vimes was honest enough to bite back the denial hanging on the end of his tongue because - God damn it - she was right but unfortunately, whilst he secretly admired her street smarts and particularly her brawling skills, she was also the most irritating person he had ever met. When she had first wandered into his case he had taken his complaint to the Commissioner. He shuddered at the memory...

_The man had nodded his head thoughtfully as grievance after grievance poured from his mouth… she might have solved some cases in Australia but she was untrained, reckless, did not follow orders and distracted his men with that thing she kept doing with her eyes..._

_Eventually, he started to stutter as it struck him that the Commissioner nodding as though in agreement was... disturbing. His brain started sending urgent messages to his mouth to shut up._

_When there was complete silence the Commissioner leaned forward, his long graceful fingers forming a steeple as he considered the man before him. Intensely._

_“I appreciate you bringing your concerns to me, Inspector…” he said, in a slow considered manner, that sounded almost sincere, “...I operate an open door policy, as you know._

_An image of a door opening over a bottomless pit presented itself in Vimes’ mind._

_“I wonder, may I just check that I have understood your complaint?”_

_Vimes, a sense of foreboding settling around him, nodded._

_“You are upset because this woman... Miss Fisher, is it?”_

_Vimes nodded again, beginning to regret his decision to get out of bed this morning._

_“Thank you, so important to get the details right - don't you agree?” he gave a smile that barely reached his top lip, “As I was saying, you are upset that Miss Fisher, who by your own account has an impressive record in crime resolution, is performing her civic duty by assisting in the identification of a murderer. Further - and I do think this is a key point - she is doing so without expectation of payment.”_

_Vimes glanced longingly at the door,_

_“And you would like me to request Miss Fisher stop this activity forwith, presumably because you have solved all the crimes in the metropolitan area and our men have nothing to do with their time. Have I understood your complaint correctly, Inspector?”_

_Vimes stood calmly and walked out of the office._

...and so he had put up with her meddling, turning up unannounced in his office, pushing her way into his interviews and her constant references to the paragon that was Jack Robinson. He had even accepted that soon he would give in to Sybil’s demand that he invite her to afternoon tea. A shiver went down his spine, he had no doubt the two ladies would get on like a house on fire, after all Miss Fisher shared many of Sybil’s views on aristocracy, including that if you had to make a song and dance about it you simply weren't high enough in the tree to bother with.

Today she had been in the foyer of Brown’s Hotel when she had called him to report their suspect, who he had all his men out searching for, had just walked into the tailor’s shop across the street from where she was sitting, sipping Earl Grey daintily from a Royal Doulton bone china tea cup - well that’s what Vimes imagined she had been doing, at least. He had ordered her to keep an eye on the shop door and note which direction he went in when he reappeared. She was not, under any circumstances to follow him. She had told him she would leave a message at the desk with the direction they had gone in, and promptly hung up. Fortunately, the suspect was still indulging his sartorial desires when Vimes had arrived. Unfortunately, he did not have time to deliver his carefully prepared lecture before the suspect had appeared and the chase was on… until she shot him… obviously - which reminded him.

“...admit it,” she taunted, “without me you’d be nowhere.”

“Right, that’s it!” Vimes grabbed her shoulder and swung her around, clapping his handcuffs on first one wrist and then the other, leaving her hands secured behind her.

“What!” Phryne’s disbelief was clear, “You can’t do this!”

“You’re under arrest.”

“On what charge?” she challenged him. Loudly.

“On the charge of assaulting a police officer, possessing an unlicensed weapon and being a royal pain in the arse!” Vimes thought for a moment, “Probably more for the pain in the arse bit, to be fair.”

A struggle ensued. It was hard to say who was getting the best of it.

“Phryne?”

Two sets of eyes shot up to see the outline of a man in a long coat and fedora, standing at the entrance of the alley.

“Jack?”

Vimes rolled his eyes. _Really?_ Of course super cop would show up right now, when he was in the throes of making a false arrest.

“What’s going on?” Jack looked from Phryne to the man in police uniform standing behind her.

“Miss Fisher was just helping us with our enquiries,” Vimes tried to smile but he had a feeling it was more of a grimace.

Jack tilted his head, his eyes taking in all the details of the situation. He nodded, “That does sound like something Miss Fisher would do. She is always...” his mouth turned up slightly, “...incredibly helpful.”

“Jack! He manhandled, then cuffed me,” Phryne complained.

Jack walked forward to rest his hand on her shoulder, never taking his eyes off Vimes. “I’m sure it was just a misunderstanding.”

Vimes looked down at the handcuffs. If it was, it was one hell of a misunderstanding but he was being offered an out and being a pain in the arse was not, unfortunately, a capital offense. “Yes, that’s true. Miss Fisher was being so incredibly helpful I may have gotten slightly…” he looked directly into the eyes of the man who was now standing extremely close to him in a completely non-threatening manner, “...confused. I think I should go find a police box.” He indicated, with a jerk of his head, the man whimpering on the ground. “I need to make arrangements to have the last thing Miss Fisher _helped_ with taken to the hospital.”

“Yes,” Jack nodded thoughtfully, removing his hand from Phryne’s shoulder, “that might be a good idea. He may be going into shock.” He crouched beside the semi-conscious man, removing the newly purchased - and expensive - cravat that had proven to be his downfall, to make a tourniquet for his leg.

Vimes stepped back from Phryne, skirted carefully around her and headed towards the main road. Checking over his shoulder, he saw she was distracted by the medical procedure underway and ducked into the shadows at the end of the alley to observe.

Having destroyed the cravat to his satisfaction, Jack was on his feet again and considering Phryne’s predicament with amusement.

She did not seem to appreciate his sense of humour. “Jack! Undo these bloody things, will you?”

“I just got off the ship, jumped in the cab you sent and was building up the courage to walk into the expensive hotel next door - when I heard raised voices coming from down here. I wasn't expecting to find you at the end of the alley, especially not cuffed and so, strangely enough, I don't have a key.”

Vimes smiled, leaning back against the wall with arms folded to enjoy watching her stew helplessly for a while.

“It’s in my pocket.”

_What?_ Vimes checked. Damn - when had she done that?

“Why do you? No- don’t worry, I don’t want to know.”

She smirked. “My extensive knowledge of police inspectors told me we were about to reach that point in our relationship when he was going to resort to arresting me, so I took the opportunity to relieve him of the key.”

Jack began to search her clothing.

“That,” she said, as she leaned into him, “is not my pocket, Jack.”

“Oh, sorry,” he said, without removing his hand, “I am not overly familiar with the positioning of pockets in women’s clothing.” Their eyes locked for one of those seconds that never end, before he continued his search. “Hang on - I’ve got it now.” He held up the key with a flourish and stepped behind her to inspect the cuffs. Key in one hand, the other on the middle of the cuffs, he was clearly in no rush. “By the way, since you didn’t ask, I’m very well thank you, and my trip was rather pleasant. In fact, it was remarkably peaceful...”

“Jack! Get these bloody things off me!”

Vimes watched her stomp her feet in frustration. With a smile of relish, he straightened and prepared to face her vengeance. As expected, once she was free Phryne was a blur of movement...

...as she spun around to entwine her arms, cuffs still dangling from one wrist, around the neck of her rescuer. And began to kiss him. In a very thorough manner.

Ah, Vimes slumped against the wall, disappointed, that was the end of that then. He should have known better than to think the universe would do him any favours. No doubt they would now be rushing off somewhere romantic like Paris, Venice or… his knowledge of the great cities of love failed him… Burnham-on-Sea.

Eventually, Robinson pulled back from the enthusiastic welcome and attempted to look up the alleyway. Vimes slunk further into the shadows. “What about the Inspector? Didn’t he take your gun?”

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m far from finished with him,” she said, in a tone that brought to mind sharpened steel making a point in overly sensitive places, “but I’ve other priorities at the moment.” Placing her hands either side of his head, “I don’t feel I have your full attention, Jack,” she said, as she pulled him in for another kiss.

Vimes smiled broadly, excellent. It would appear the game was still on. He slipped around the corner, heading towards the police box. Locating a cigar in his pocket, he lit up and soon a series of perfect smoke rings marked his progress. A murder solved in record time using almost no police resource? The Commissioner was going to be very happy with this turn of events. He mentally reviewed the pile of unsolved murders hidden in a box, in a dark corner, in a store room at the station. How to entice her to solve another of his cases? Gods, she might even be quicker now that super cop was involved. Also, he grinned, hadn’t she said something about Robinson liking paperwork?

**Author's Note:**

> My thanks to solitary_cyclist for agreeing to beta this even though she is not familiar with Discworld and also whopooh who did a character check for me ❤️❤️❤️ Thank you lovely ladies, my oversight in respect of the late addition of this note in no way reflects my gratitude for your assistance, merely my inability to concentrate long enough to do any task properly first time (also I have a hangover today - that surely should be taken into account LOL).
> 
> And now thanks to mercurialbianca ❤️❤️❤️
> 
> And now more thanks to whopooh


End file.
